Revo claims its new polarized lenses are revolutionary and, while that’s a fairly typical marketing overstatement, they are a dramatic improvement. It’s true that my local section of the Pacific has rarely looked so good, and no doubt some of that is due to the “Water” lens. But revolutionary? Let’s call it a great evolution.

“While some lenses address this problem by blocking this entire color range (resulting in color distortion and the inability to accurately recognize colors),” says the company, “the Revo Water lens filters only specific wavelengths, resulting in accurate color that eliminates the blue haze without color distortion.”

The Stern is a strong frame that’s a cross between a Wayfarer and a Frogskin. It’s thick and bold and looks like it would weigh heavy on the bridge of the nose, but in fact feels quite light and comfortable. The lenses are polycarbonate, the frames nylon with elastomer nose pieces. Light transmission on the Water lens is ten percent.

The Pacific isn’t on the Pantone chart, so I can’t quibble about accuracy—I just know that everything I looked at looked better. A whole lot better.

There’s a reason why what I call the "safari shirt" hasn’t changed substantively since Hemingway was shooting elephants in it: The lessons learned from a hundred or more years of use across the wildest hot-weather terrain in the world are every bit as valid today. And while I have a whole closet full of these kinds of shirts, one of my favorite’s is Outdoor Research’s SoDo ($68).

A month or so ago, I headed into the Mojave Desert for a couple nights of backpacking and the SoDo was the only on top I took. During the day, when temps climbed well into the 90s, I rolled down the sleeves and protected my arms with its SPF50 coverage and turned up the collar to keep the sun off the back of my neck. Hanging in the shade, I simply rolled the sleeves all the way up. And when night’s cooling temperatures arrived, made colder by the strong gusting winds, I rolled them back down and took advantage of the nylon shirt’s wind resistance.

Some safari shirts pack so many pockets you don’t want to wear them anywhere but into the bush, but the OR version has just two pockets and once of them is zippered and hidden behind a flap. The effect is much more subtle and gives the shirt a chameleon quality—you can wear it to dinner, wear it to travel, and you don’t need a pith helmet accompaniment.

The SoDo has mesh arm pit vents and mesh lining on the shoulders to enable a skoch of circulation. It’s not huge, but it helps. And the nylon dries reasonably quickly, though not in an instant. Indeed, as the styling of the shirt makes it more versatile, so does the weight—the SoDo isn’t the lightest or fastest drying shirt in my closet, but whatever it gives up in the hottest temps you get back in the cooler ones. Very rarely is it overwhelmed; much more common is that it’s the one and only shirt you need.

I’m all fired up on handplanes. The beach below my house, Salt Creek, is madness in the summer and long stretches of it are blackballed from board surfing. A perfect alternative is bodysurfing using hand planes, miniature boards that lift you out of the water, set you trimming, and give a measure of control otherwise missing.

You can buy beautiful hand planes — state of the art Brownfish models go for $140 — but the little sticks beg to be done it yourself. Since we’re talking about a decidely low-fi pursuit, any old plank will do, so long as it’s well sealed.

October 07, 2010

While fuel costs soared and the economy gasped, 2010 has actually been a great year for outdoor recreation. Good ol' camping may be more popular than ever, as reported by CNN, and national parks, such as Yellowstone, are breaking attendence records. Which means: There is no guilt in investing in new gear so that you can properly hike, bike, or climb in our own spectacular backyard. You might even argue that it's smart to upgrade your softshell or ski boots so that you are ready to enjoy our (affordable) natural resources.

September 23, 2010

By National
Geographic Adventure Contributing Editor Steve Casimiro, editor of The Adventure Life

A few years ago, an outdoor apparel manufacturer was showing me a line of tops for men and women. All the chickie pieces had hoods available, but none of the men’s. “We can’t sell hoodies to guys in outdoor shops,” he said, which was a head scratcher to me because at the time surf companies couldn’t make enough guy’s hooded sweats.

Times have changed. Or guys have changed. Or apparel makers have changed. Because one of the swankiest hoodies I’ve ever worn is just hitting stores, the Boulder Hood from Icebreaker. Made of organic merino wool and lined with stretch-woven polyester, it features a polyurethane laminate that blocks water but still breathes. It’s at once a dressy coat and a performance garment.

By some measures, the Boulder Hood is a strange beast. The wool outer fabric feels like what you’d find on a high-end woolen coat. But the hood gives it a decidedly modern, hip silhouette while adding an extra bit of functionality. In some coats, the hood might not work. But with Icebreaker’s subtle attention to details, it does.

And forgetting about how it looks for a minute, when worn it’s super comfortable—roomy without being huge, soft on inside and out, and warm but not stifling. The hood might not play on Wall Street, but for just about everywhere and everything else—work, travel, going out, primary autumn jacket or layered winter coat—this Icebreaker sells itself ($400; www.icebreaker.com).

August 26, 2010

By National
Geographic Adventure Contributing Editor Steve Casimiro, editor of The Adventure Life

I long for the day when environmentally conscious products like The North Face Tree Hugger 32 backpack ($149) are the exception and not the rule, when instead of saying, “Oh my gosh, it’s made of wool,” we say something like, “Ew, can you believe they’re still using petroleum to make their packs?” For now, though, I’ll take comfort that the capability exists and that a brand as big as TNF is getting behind it.

And the Tree Hugger is nothing if not capable. Once you get over the novelty of its material, the pack feels, acts, and behaves like any other 32-liter backpack. You stuff your kit into the top, smush it down to the bottom, make sure it’s well-balanced behind the plastic frame sheet, and away you go. The load carries nicely for a minimalist pack—the hipbelt and straps are both lightly padded with vented mesh and foam—though if you fill all 32 liters with, say, full water bottles vs. pingpong balls, you’re going to wish for a more robust suspension. Stick to extended day trip use and you’ll be happy.

The wool itself is ripstop and treated with a durable water resistant coating that makes liquids bead and roll off like pearls. It feels softer and more natural than a typical nylon pack, but no less abrasion proof. The synthetics on it—webbing, mesh, foam, buckles—are 100 percent recycled, too. Time will tell if the Tree Hugger leads the way to more innovation in the use of natural materials or simply becomes a one-note feel good; from my experience filling it and carrying it, I don’t see any reason why it shouldn’t be the former.

August 18, 2010

By National
Geographic Adventure Contributing Editor Steve Casimiro, editor of The Adventure Life

Spend enough time studying hiking shoe specifications and you’ll notice that on paper they’re all pretty much alike. Rubber tread, squishy EVA midsole, no-slip laces, some kind of frame, exo-skeleton, or wrap-around that pulls everything nice and snug. But from those similar raw materials, great differences arise--a lesson I relearned when I slipped on Tecnica’s Tarantula ($115).

The minute I put my foot in the fastacker/trail runner, I knew it was different. The tongue doesn’t really exist--the upper is all one piece, with a mesh vented panel where the tongue normally sits. This makes it a little more difficult to put on, but once it’s on it feels like it’s molded to your foot, a perfect firm-yet-gentle wrap of the arch and top of the foot, with enough room in the toebox for your piggies to get wiggy. Saying it fits like a glove doesn’t do justice because most gloves I’ve worn don’t fit that well, but you get the idea.

July 28, 2010

By National
Geographic Adventure Contributing Editor Steve Casimiro, editor of The Adventure Life

Try as you might, you will never blend in in the souks of Marrakesh, nor will your Nikon or Canon DSLR nor the fancy adventure camera bag you bought to protect your gear. Despite your best intentions, nothing screams “rob me” in a hectic Third World market like an expensive piece of electronics and the shiny nylon that encompasses it. That’s why Think Tank’s Retrospective 20 ($159, shown in pinestone) has become my favorite camera bag for travel of any sort: While I’ll always have to be careful about flashing the camera, the Think Tank’s tweedy exterior could be mistaken for a hemp hippie satchel or natural fiber messenger bag filled with nothing more than a Lonely Planet guidebook.

July 21, 2010

By National
Geographic Adventure Contributing Editor Steve Casimiro, editor of The Adventure Life

When your phone has a GPS built into it, who carries a compass these days? But what about when the battery dies or you drop it in the drink and the fog rolls in and south looks like north? Short of carrying a dedicated compass, which all the experts recommend but few people do, the model built into the Casio Pathfinder PAW5000-1 ($450) is a solid option. The Pathfinder line is immensely popular, but not always so easy to use—there’s a lot squeezed onto those little faces—but this newest model adds a second hand, which doubles as a pointer to north and makes it an immensely usable device, not just a novelty.

June 15, 2010

By National Geographic Adventure Contributing Editor Steve Casimiro, editor ofThe Adventure LifeOne of the cardinal rules of s'mores is that you don't promise what you can't deliver. All the fixin's were laid out and ready to go—dark chocolate, cinnamon graham crackers, marshmallows—and I started to build the fire. But the wood was so damp it felt like it had been sitting on the floor of a rain forest on the Olympic Peninsula since the end of the last ice age. Matches were fruitless. Then I pulled out my new secret weapon: the Soto pocket torch. Fifteen minutes later, chocolate and mallow were as one.